<Taps microphone>

Is this thing on? Does it still work? Is anyone out there?

Oh good.

That was a long blog hiatus for me — my longest ever. It wasn’t deliberate. I tried to come back sooner, but everything I typed looked something like this: Louaoiejnfwoiern xoiernwml owerucustiwern. More or less.

I’m a good swimmer. I have been since I was a kid. I know what it’s like to move quickly and effortlessly through chlorine or sea water. And I know what it feels like to stay in one place. To tread water.

Lately I’ve been treading water.

It doesn’t feel unsafe or threatening. It just feels like I’m staying still, putting in a lot of physical effort that is not allowing me to really go anywhere. Effort that has made me bone-tired.

The baby doesn’t sleep. In the ultimate bait-and-switch, he had been pulling ten-hour stretches of sleep for the month of September, and then he turned into the definition what the Internet details as “four month sleep regression.“ Which has since extended into five month sleep regression. Those ten hours a night? Gone. Divided by about five. The kid likes to party.

And not just by moonlight. My sweet boy doesn’t want to miss a thing during the day either. A cat nap here and there, but that’s all the sleeping he’ll do.

Now, let me just say this: This child could not be any sweeter. He is a happy, smiling baby who melts my heart about 846 times a day.

But he won’t sleep and I am the human pacifier. And so I’m irritable and void of short-term memory and probably not completing logical sentences {see previous blog attempt reference above}. Add in two older kids who need me to be on top of my game and it’s more than my normal threshold of chaos here.

I’m forgetting a lot of things. Nothing disastrous. School forms. A bill payment or two. Oh and I’m the jackass mom at elementary school who has met you about five times still does not know your name. I can remember the parking spot we used in my childhood trip to Walt Disney World in 1982 {Goofy A-56}, but can’t recall which of my son’s classmates is your kid. It’s like being the guy from the movie Memento. Maybe I should take Polaroids and tattoo some key reminders to myself.

I’m cranky. And it’s not fair to my kids or my husband. But I am.

I’m behind. On life. Cleaning. Groceries. Laundry. Exercise. Holidays. My email inbox. All of it. Everything. If it is supposed to be happening, and I’m in charge, you can safely file it in the “pending” category, if I’m lucky. More likely, it’s in the “delinquent” file. Here is what the extent of my correspondence looks and sounds like every day:

I’m running late.

I’m running later.

Can we reschedule?

Sorry I missed it.

Was that today?

I misplaced it.

When is the deadline again?

Because I’m here, treading water. Watching my limbs moving — somewhere between fluidly and feverishly — yet staying in one place. To be clear: Not drowning — not even close. But watching the shore and trying to get a little closer.

Most of my kicking and flailing occurs between 4 and 7pm. These three hours, as most of you know, can feel like they last 12 days. The six year-old’s resistance to homework. Me holding flashcards in one hand, with a nursing baby in the other. My four year-old putting an ironic tiara on my head and asking me to play princesses in between first grade number line assignments. And some semblance of dinner prep {I use the term loosely} going very, very poorly in the background.

If I had a webcam hooked up, I’d tell you to grab a seat, a cocktail and some popcorn to watch some pretty compelling reality TV.

My husband has a long commute, so he usually can’t get back in time to help with the bath/bedtime madness. Now and then, he sends a text with the most magical and life-altering string of words: “Caught an earlier train.”  It’s not often, but sometimes it happens and it’s the world’s best surprise. Sort of like me taking the vacuum out of the closet.

Plenty of people have three young kids. Plenty have more. Some swim circles around me and others feel like they are sinking. And some are here with me, hanging tough in the deep end and waiting to feel like we are making progress. Like we are moving forward without kicking quite so hard.

I’m a lucky woman. I have a great family. And I the last thing I want is to wish this time away, because it is fleeting. It will all even out. I know this.

But, in the meantime, let me offer a blanket apology to every person I interact with. I’m sorry for the unreturned emails/texts/phone calls, the missed appointments, the tardiness to any and all things, the fact that I forgot your name again and anything else I’ve missed.

I’ll make it all up to everyone when I’m swimming at full speed again.

So, if you see me, please toss me a pair of swimmies. Or at least a more flattering bathing suit.